In the Name of Yeats
by The Official Canadian Teabag
Summary: It's Christmas Day and Lovino is stuck working at his shitty job. A weird guy comes along and keeps him company. They talk. A lot. They talk about books, authors, ethics, and morals, because that's how you celebrate Christmas, right? Also, the weird guy is seriously cute. Now available in Russian! Check my bio for link.


Bullshit. This is such bullshit.

It was Christmas Day. You know, the day where everybody goes sees their families and gobbles on turkey and gives presents and all that good shit. Well, it was Christmas for everybody except Lovino, because he was stuck working in this dumbass café for eight hours. Eight fucking hours! He tried talking his boss out of it, blabbing something about _have mercy on me, man_ , but the woman was strict. It wasn't his fault he'd called in sick—"sick"—too many times this year, he didn't deserve this kind of treatment, he didn't fucking _accept_ this. Christmas Eve was bad enough, but Christmas Day is crossing the line.

Well—it's not like Lovino had much of a Christmas planned anyways. His brother was out of town fucking his boyfriend, his only two friends were visiting their families in their respective countries, his senile old grandfather was probably celebrating this blessed day with _hookers,_ and Lovino was almost positive even his cat hated his guts and was plotting his death. But still. This is bullshit.

"This is bullshit," Lovino said out loud to the empty café.

To boot, his demonspawn of a manager had forced a Santa hat on him as well as an apron that, well—was kind of funny, so Lovino couldn't really complain about it. It had a picture of a gingerbreadman on it with a caption that said **LET'S GET BAKED.** Which, you gotta admit, is pretty clever. Bad, but still clever, and Lovino ironically felt like eating gingerbread cookies right now—or going under the influence of marijuana, that would be nice, too.

It was exactly 11:46 AM and not a single customer had entered, not one. There was literally no point of Lovino even being here; he'd get no customers, it's _Christmas_ for God's sake, nobody wants to buy croissants on _Christmas,_ they want to party hard and sing carols and celebrate Jesus' birthday. Which is weird because Jesus wasn't even born on the twenty-fifth of December. Right? Jesus was born in April or something. _Christ_ was born on the twenty-fifth, and Christ is different than Jesus—or was He? Maybe not. _I'm Catholic, I swear,_ Lovino thought to himself, unconvincingly. All those years of Sunday School, thrown out the window. If being gay didn't send him to hell, not knowing the difference between Jesus and Christ would.

He looked at the clock again. 11:48. Only seven hours, eleven minutes and _thirty-nine seconds_ before he can leave, forty-two minutes before he can go on his lunch break. What in the fresh hell can he do now? He had a book on the counter— _1984_ —but he was saving that for later in the evening. He figured there was no hurt in watching some Christmas-themed porn on his phone. No one was around, so why not? Nothing screamed 'festivity' more than watching some slutty Mrs. Claus get fucked by Rudolph, or some elf twink getting a taste of Santa's candy cane. That's really getting into the holiday spirit.

So that's what he did. He brought up some cheesy porn movie on his phone and turned the volume up. Not more than fifteen seconds later, Lovino quickly deduced that what he was watching was no different than regular straight porn, except the guy in this video started off wearing boxers with candy canes on it, and the woman was wearing a slutty Santa costume. Boring. But Lovino kept watching, because he had nothing better to do. The woman's nails, he noted, were the only nice things about this video, because they had tiny stockings painted on them and he thought they were cute.

About two or three minutes later, the bells above the door of the café jingled cheerfully, and Lovino nearly fell off his stool. Jesus _Christ,_ he really hadn't been expecting anyone to show up—such good timing, too. A hot flush made its way up Lovino's face, and a plethora of curse words, mainly a long line of _shitshitshitshitshit_ escaped his mouth as he fumbled to _turn the fucking porn off oh my god_ —and he ended up forcefully shutting his phone down and shoving it in his pocket. Beet-red and petrified the customer just heard whatever he listened to, Lovino briefly wondered how painful a death by humiliation would be.

"Hi," said the customer, and Lovino looked up. The customer, Lovino noticed, did not look disgusted or terrified out of his mind, so it was safe to assume he didn't hear the blasphemy that was on Lovino's phone. The customer, Lovino also noticed, was probably the most gorgeous man he'd ever laid eyes on, with chocolatey hair and creamy bronze skin and these _eyes_ that were so pure and beautiful and _green._ The man smiled and Lovino's knees wobbled. Lord have mercy. "Merry Christmas."

Lovino blinked, and for a second or two he lost the ability to speak. "Oh," he said finally. "Yeah. You, too." His face blushed harder and he was absolutely positive he was glowing.

The man—the _hot, young, delicious_ man—sat himself at the counter and unzipped his jacket. "Whew," he said. "Didn't think anything would be open today. Even McDonald's is closed." The man was wearing the most hideous Christmas sweater underneath his jacket, but dammit he still looked fine as hell. "I'm glad this place is still open—it's a lot different than what I remember—I was really hoping to get one of your amazing hot chocolates today, 'cause that would really be the best Christmas present ever." He laughed and holy _shit_ was it attractive. Then the man turned his green gaze on Lovino. He looked at Lovino expectantly, as if he was waiting for an answer.

"Oh," Lovino said again, being the genius he is. "Yeah." He strained to say more, just another sentence, just another _word_ Lovino _how hard can it be_ —but nothing came out. The man kept staring at him. "Can I help you?" Lovino asked finally.

The man gave him a funny look but his smile grew wider. "Hot chocolate, please. A small."

"Oh, right." Lovino fumbled behind the counter awkwardly, his nervous hands pressing this key and that, but he did manage to punch in the right buttons. "One-seventy."

The guy reached into his pocket. "Let's see." He fished out a handful of coins and searched through them on his palm. "Twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five, eighty-five," he said. "A dollar ten...a dollar thirty-five—" He froze. "—that's it? Jeez, I thought I had more than that." Lovino watched as the man flushed with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, I don't have another thirty-five cents. I thought I had more but I guess I don't...um, cancel my order, please," the man mumbled.

Lovino stared. Then he surprised himself by waving his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Keep your money." He punched in a couple more keys to make it look like the guy had paid.

When he looked back at the customer the man was staring at him with a look of bewilderment. "Really?" the man asked.

"Yeah."

" _Really_ really?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Lovino snapped before turning his back on the customer to fill him a cup of hot cocoa. "Whipped cream or no whipped cream?"

A brief moment of silence. "Um," the man said softly. "Whipped cream, please."

Lovino topped the cocoa off with the sugary stuff before handing it to the man. Smiling ear-to-ear the man took it gratefully. "Thank you so much." He carefully sipped from the mug and let out a satisfied hum that sounded way too sexual for Lovino's own good holy _shit_. "Delicious as always," he said brightly.

"Thanks," Lovino muttered, mostly to himself, crossing his arms and awkwardly leaning back against the coffee machine. It was quiet after that—not an uncomfortable silence but a silence nonetheless. Lovino found himself standing around with nothing to do, and he couldn't even get back to his porn just in case this stupidly beautiful man needed anything else—but by judging the man's pocket change, that won't be likely.

"Hey—" the man spoke up suddenly, "—it's really sad that you're working on Christmas. You must want to spend time with family, so it really sucks that you have to be here."

Lovino glanced at the customer, who was taking another sip of his drink. The damned fool had a bit of whipped cream on his nose. Stupid. So stupid. Lovino shrugged. "I don't have much of a family anyways, so I don't care."

The man's eyes widened and he wiped his hand against his nose as if he heard Lovino's thoughts. "Really? Oh, I'm sorry."

"No biggie."

The man shifted on his stool. "If it makes you feel any better, I can relate to that pretty well. My older brother is my only family, and we don't really see each other very often. He travels a lot." His cheeks dimpled, but his smile was sad. "I haven't seen him in a couple of years now."

Lovino cocked his head slightly, studying his customer. That is pretty sad. Lovino thought his life was crap, but at least he's got more than one family member alive who gives a shit about him. This guy had nobody.

"What about you?" the guy asked. "What's your family like?"

Lovino frowned and folded his arms tighter across his chest. What was his family like? Nobody had ever really asked him that before. "Well," he started, not entirely sure why he was agreeing to tell a complete stranger about his life. "I have a younger brother and I have a grandfather. I have an aunt and two uncles, I think, but they're all the way in Italy and I've never met them before. I used to live with my granddad and my brother but we never really got along. I also have a cat who shockingly hasn't run away yet but probably stays only because I feed her. And—" He snuck a glance at the customer. The guy was watching him, listening to him. Lovino flushed. "—yeah."

"No parents?" The man asked. Lovino bristled slightly. Obviously this guy had no sense of privacy. Or he was just ballsy.

"No," Lovino said. "Dead."

The man nodded. "Mine too."

"Hm."

Yet another break in conversation. This time it lasted about a minute.

Then the man spoke up. "Do you go to school around here?"

"Yeah. I go to the university downtown. Hoping to get a Ph. D. in chemistry," Lovino replied.

The man smiled again, less sadly this time. "Cool."

"Sure," Lovino said. "You?"

"Yup. Education," the man said. "You know, to be a teacher or professor or whatnot."

"Cool."

"Mm hmm."

And the silence was back again, and Lovino was glad for it. Talking was just so emotionally and physically draining—especially for an antisocial like Lovino—but to be fair it wasn't too bad talking to this guy. The guy seemed nice enough, and Lovino felt bad for him. But maybe everybody starts feeling _things_ when they talk to beautiful people.

"Do you like books?" The man was talking again. Lovino wasn't ready to talk again—the guy had broken the silence quicker than he broke the first and second and Lovino was not mentally prepared. Swallowing hard and flushing some more, Lovino was about to respond but thankfully the guy spoke up again, which gave Lovino more time to think about what to say. "I see you have a book there. _1984_...that's the one written by the same guy who wrote _Animal Farm,_ right?"

The corners of Lovino's mouth twitched. That was unexpected. "Yes, that's right."

"Hold on, I think I remember the author," the man said, and he placed a thoughtful finger on his chin. "Not Charles Dickens, not C.S. Lewis...William Golding?"

Lovino shook his head. "No, that guy wrote _Lord of the Flies._ "

"Ah, you're right! I've read that book—it's super creepy." The man shuddered dramatically and Lovino's lips twitched again. "Um...Rudyard Kipling?"

Amused, Lovino's arms lost their tension and he rested them against the counter instead. " _The Jungle Book._ "

"Robert Louis Stevenson?"

" _Treasure Island_."

"Agatha Christie?"

" _Murder on the Orient Express_."

"Joseph Conrad?"

" _Heart of Darkness_."

The customer frowned. "It's not James Joyce, is it? Please tell me it's not James Joyce."

" _Ulysses._ No. Good guess, though." Lovino may or may not be smiling. "George Orwell."

"George Orwell! Oh, I knew that," the man cried. "I totally knew that. I'm not kidding, I knew that but I guess I had a brainfart or something." Lovino swallowed down the urge to laugh. This guy is really cute. "Well, what's this one about? I've read _Animal Farm_ but I haven't read this one and it seems interesting."

"It's pretty interesting." Lovino grabbed the thin book and slid it towards him. "Um...it's about this guy who lives in this place that is run by this dictator-like guy called Big Brother but it's weird because nobody knows if this dictator guy even exists, they just see pictures of him everywhere. So Winston—he's the main character—he thinks the government is corrupt but he can't do much about it because it's illegal to hate the government or something, and there are microphones and cameras in every room of every apartment and every house so Big Brother will know if you don't like the government and they will hunt you down. Then this Winston guy joins some cult that's all about destroying the government, but well—shit happens. Um." He cleared his throat against his fist. "No spoilers."

The guy looked at Lovino with the most spellbound expression it made Lovino want to laugh again. "Wow," the man gushed. "So cool. I want to read it now! I'm definitely putting that on my list. You've read a lot of books, haven't you?"

Lovino gulped. "Yeah. I like books."

"I like books, too." The man grinned broadly and stuck out his hand like an idiot. "I'm Antonio, by the way." The fucker had the _audacity_ to wink, too.

Lovino eyed the hand warily, but he found himself sliding his hand against Antonio's anyways. "Lovino."

"Lovino," Antonio echoed. "That's a cool name. What does it mean?"

"Damn," Lovino said, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't know. I never thought about it."

"Well," said Antonio cleverly. "I bet it means something like 'a really cool person', because that's what you are." Lovino found himself almost smiling for the third time today which has probably never fucking happened in the history of ever. "Anyways, Lovino, what else have you read? Do you like Ernest Hemingway?"

Lovino nearly choked on his saliva. How was it possible that this man was reading his mind so well and so quickly? "He's one of the best."

* * *

"—and he said that life is...round," Lovino explained slowly, two hours and forty-nine minutes later, watching Antonio take a sip of his second cup of hot cocoa. "That we're stuck on this wheel of living and dying, this never-ending circle, until someone breaks it, ruptures it, destroys it, and then the whole world—"

"—gets wider," Antonio finished for him, swiping whipped cream off the rim of the mug and licking it off his finger. Lovino looked at him, mesmerized. Antonio smiled and said nothing.

"How did you know I was going to say that?" Lovino asked.

Antonio shrugged. "I didn't, actually. But it makes sense, doesn't it? We all live our own lives like a cycle, going through our day each and every day until we meet somebody that breaks our routine and expands our horizons. You know, whether it be for better or for worse."

Lovino nodded and took a bite out of the slowly disappearing sandwich he took out of his bag more than two hours ago for lunch. He was impressed. Antonio seemed well-educated in many brilliant authors ranging from Nabokov to Twain to Huxley, but he did not expect this ridiculously handsome and goofy man to be able to comprehend Yeats and expand on his sayings. Not to say Antonio is too dumb for him, but Yeats is a fucking wacky dude, and a lot of what he's said is pretty funky and hard to understand. "That's pretty much exactly what he meant. I think," he said.

Antonio laughed softly. "Thanks. I've never heard of Yeats before, but from the way you're quoting him he sounds like a pretty cool guy. Where did you get that whole 'life is round' part from?"

 _"A Vision_ ," Lovino replied. "He's totally a genius but some of the things he says are impossible. I just—if you read his works you'll know what I mean, it's hard to explain. I prefer _A Vision_ over any of his poems any day."

Antonio lifted his eyebrows. "Yeats is a poet?"

"Yeah," Lovino huffed. "And a pretty shitty one at that."

"Couldn't have been as bad as Walt Whitman." Antonio winked at Lovino over his cup of cocoa, the heat of the steam making his cheeks flush. "That dirty bastard," he whispered before taking another sip.

Lovino let his lips curl up a bit, just a little bit, and he shook his head. "How the fuck do you do it?"

"Hmm?" Antonio set his drink down and rested his chin on his fist.

"Smile," Lovino said. "All the time. You even smiled when I dissed one of your favourite authors—John Steinbeck—for _The Grapes of Wrath_ being so boring and drawn-out. There were, like, two hundred pages in the entire novel where _nothing_ happened. It was just word diarrhea."

"It was definitely _not_ just word diarrhea, but whatever." Antonio shrugged and smiled lazily. "We all have different opinions and different tastes and different views and I respect them all. And Johnny is a big boy; he never really cared much for criticism so I don't feel the need to stand up for him."

"Well," said Lovino, leaving the counter for a second to grab a slice of banana bread for him and Antonio—he was taking a bunch of food from the café but he made a mental note to take it all out from his next paycheck. "You know what they say—'someone who smiles too much with you can sometimes frown too much with you at your back'. Just a little food for thought." He refilled Antonio's mug with more cocoa and whipped cream. An idea came through that very moment, and while he was feeling very shy about it he managed to suggest it. "Speaking of food, do you, uh," he stammered. "W...would you...would you like to bake some cookies with me right now?" His face was hot. What a stupid question.

And yet, Antonio's eyes lit up and he shot up from his stool with incredible speed. "Lovino! I would love to! I am practically Chef Gordon Ramsay, you know."

"Of course." Lovino relaxed and smirked and opened the gate thing that led to behind the counter for Antonio. "Let's go, then."

* * *

"Go to the fridge," Antonio said as his eyes ran over the recipe for cupcakes he'd found on his phone. They decided to scrap the whole cookie idea because sugary and glittery Christmas cookies are so overused—also because _fuck_ cookies, that's why.

Lovino snorted. "Don't boss me around."

"I'm bossing you," Antonio said playfully. "Now go. We need two eggs."

"Fine." Lovino played along and headed to the fridge. "Do we need milk?"

"Uh...I think so."

"You think so. And to think I believed you when you said you were Chef Ramsay."

Antonio laughed. "How cruel. Let me live."

The rest of the baking process went fairly well up until the point where Antonio attempted to turn the electric hand mixer on. He turned it on alright—when it was already in the batter. Raw batter went flying this way and that, landing on Lovino's face and Antonio's hair.

"Jesus Christ," Lovino cried, but he was laughing. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Art," Antonio responded, flashing Lovino a brilliant smile. "I did good, right?"

"No. Not good. Far from good. Look at this—I have to wipe this entire counter down because of you." Surprisingly, Lovino wasn't really upset about this, and he was sure he would have been were it literally anyone else.

"I'll help you clean," Antonio said, and he reached towards Lovino to swipe a bit of batter off his apron. "No big deal."

"It _is_ a big deal, you idiot, I'm not going to make you clean anything on Christmas and oh my god what the _fuck_ are you doing? Antonio!" Lovino grabbed Antonio's wrist but it was too late as the man had already stuck his batter-covered finger into his mouth. "You're not supposed to eat it raw! Do you want fucking salmonella?"

Antonio barely looked fazed as he sucked his finger clean—Jesus Christ, every single move this man made was erotic—while holding eye contact with Lovino. Then he shrugged. "Oh, well. _Que será, será."_

 _"_ No _. No. Será_ my ass, if you die in this place I'm out of a job because it'll be _my_ fault, so just shut up and mix." Lovino just about threw the hand mixer back at Antonio who simply laughed but did what he was told, and Lovino refused to acknowledge how beautiful the man's laughter was.

Sooner than later the cupcakes were finally in the oven, and all was well until Antonio whined, "We have to wait a whole thirty minutes for these?"

"Yes. In case you didn't know, baking doesn't happen in seconds." Lovino grabbed a towel and wet it under the sink before wiping down the counter.

"I can't wait that long," Antonio said.

"Too bad," Lovino said. "Come on, let's go sit." He tossed the towel to the side and made his way to the kitchen doors. He noticed Antonio wasn't immediately following him but he didn't turn around. "You coming?"

"Ah—yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

They decided to kill time by arguing over which brand of ketchup was better, Heinz or French's—Antonio insisted Heinz was the better option which is why it was the most popular but Lovino was adamant that French's simply put just 'tastes better'—but about fifteen minutes later Lovino scrunched his nose. "Is something burning?"

Antonio blanched. "I don't smell anything."

Lovino stared at Antonio and narrowed his eyes. Antonio fidgeted and looked away. "Antonio," Lovino said. "What did you do?"

Antonio gulped. "Nothing."

With a sigh, Lovino got up and trudged to the kitchen, Antonio hesitantly following him. Lovino hurried to the oven and was absolutely _shocked_ that the temperature had been cranked from two hundred degrees Fahrenheit to _four hundred_. "Antonio!" Lovino cried. "Why did you do this?" He turned the oven off and cautiously opened the oven door.

Antonio winced. "I just—well, I thought if you doubled the temperature and divided the time by two, you would get the same result. I don't know, it made sense to me in my head." He squirmed and looked so uncomfortable and guilty it softened Lovino's expression. "I'm sorry."

Lovino sighed again. This guy was going to be the death of him. "Pass me the oven mitts, please."

Antonio grabbed them off their hook and handed them to Lovino. Lovino carefully took the cupcakes out—they were overcooked, way overcooked—and placed them on the nearest counter. "Wow," he muttered. "Easily the ugliest cupcakes I have ever seen in my life." Burnt to the crisp, cracked crowns, and when Lovino took a toothpick to stick it in it was like trying to cut through a rock.

Antonio's face fell even more, and admittedly Lovino hated seeing that sort of look on the guy's face. "I'm so sorry," he whispered again. For fuck's sake. Was he going to cry?

Lovino gave Antonio a look. Then he sighed once again and shook his head. "It's okay. Don't worry about it." He took a fork and stabbed a cupcake with all his might, and this time it went through—he tried pulling the fork out and the entire cupcake went along with it. He broke off a piece and stuffed it in his mouth. He grimaced. The cupcake had sharp edges and it left a mildly unpleasant burnt taste in his mouth but actually...not the worst cupcake he's ever tasted. "Well, it's not—terrible," he said, and broke off another piece, this time handing it to Antonio.

Antonio nervously took the piece and placed it on his tongue. He chewed hard a couple of times, and then his face screwed up in disgust and Lovino couldn't stop a tiny smile from coming onto his face.

"Not good?" Lovino teased. Antonio shook his head quickly. Feeling confident and much bolder than usual, Lovino reached out and patted Antonio's shoulder. "It's okay," he said again. "You've learnt from your mistakes. You're finishing them, by the way."

Antonio groaned. "Ugh."

* * *

"Do you like art?" Antonio asked about forty minutes later, half-eaten cupcake in hand. Lovino had taken mercy on the poor guy and quickly whipped up a batch of icing, which he slathered on all the cupcakes to cover up a bit of the burnt flavour.

"Sure," Lovino said. "Art is pretty cool."

"Ever heard of Salvador Dali?"

"Of course. The weird guy with the moustache, right? His paintings are awesome."

Antonio's plush mouth lifted up into a smile. "I agree one hundred percent. Have you heard of the piece he made called—hopefully I am remembering it correctly— _Dream Caused By The Flight Of a Bee Around a Pomegranate a Second Before Awakening?_ "

Lovino just about choked on his cupcake—out of the goodness of his heart he'd taken one—and he boggled. "I... _what_?"

Antonio laughed. "I guess you haven't heard of it. It's really quite a strange painting, there's like a naked woman lying on a rock and a fish that's coming out of a pomegranate and two tigers coming from the fish's mouth and there's a bee somewhere and an elephant with flamingo legs—I brought it up because it makes me wonder what Yeats would think about Dali, because it seems to me like they are very different people despite being alive at the same time as each other. Sort of."

Lovino paused to take another bite out of his cupcake—and possibly chip a tooth by doing so—before responding. "Hmm," he hummed. "Well, Dali was all about living life to the fullest every chance you got, 'cause he was into that YOLO shit, wasn't he?"

Antonio grinned and tilted his head this way and that. "Eh, sort of. Dali liked to think that the world was this awesome, magical place where anything can come true and life is too short to not do anything that will impact people."

"Right. And Yeats was kind of the same but in a more—cynical way, I guess," Lovino said, words falling out of his mouth at this point in time. "He said once that life is this really long preparation for something that never happens. If you ask me, that tells me that we are all born with this certain level of potential, and it starts out pretty high, and as we grow older the level of potential rises and rises and rises and either we recognize that and take it to our advantage or we don't even notice and we die without doing anything remarkable—even though the world is full of magic and stuff. He also believed that if you fucked up your life pretty badly you could just start over, but you'd have to die first, you know—'to be reborn we must die first', so it's like, are you willing to die just so you can start a new life and not make the same mistakes, or do you want to continue living your life to the whole extent but try to fix it along the way? Well, anyways, I think Yeats would think Dali is pretty fucked up, but at the same time I'm pretty sure he'd be a fan."

Antonio was watching him, listening, smiling, chewing on his cupcake. "And you?" he asked. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"Life. Yeats and Dali were optimistic for the most part about it all, but I think that, y'know, going off on what you've been saying about him, Yeats thought about life more realistically and Dali based his reasoning on pure emotion rather than reality. So whose thoughts do you relate to the most?"

Lovino paused. Frowned. Thought about it, considered it. He didn't expect Antonio to ask such a thing, as more people usually didn't bother with Lovino's opinions. But that's what Lovino loved—no, _liked_ about this man. He'd just met Antonio a couple of hours ago and yet he was sure the man showed genuine interest and curiosity in what Lovino had to say. Even if the guy was faking it, pretending to care, Lovino didn't really give a shit because this was the first time in a long time Lovino spoke to someone who not only a) shared the same interests as him, but also b) was showing interest and was actually listening to what he was saying. It was flattering, and Lovino found himself...appreciating this man even more.

"Yeats," Lovino said eventually. Then, in a softer voice: "Though I really admire the people who think like Dali."

Antonio's eyebrows rose. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's cool when people don't really think about the negative aspects of life," Lovino mumbled. "I mean, they probably think about them time to time but they don't let them ruin or affect their...intake of happiness. Like, at all. And that's really something to admire, I think."

When he looked at Antonio, the man was leaning forward, and his emerald gaze seemed to pierce right through Lovino's skin. They were so annoyingly beautiful, and despite him acknowledging the fact he was staring, Lovino couldn't look away.

"I've always admired people who think realistically about everything," Antonio murmured. "I really commend people who think that way because, well—they're almost never ignorant about anything, which is incredible to say the least. They're always thinking ahead, and considering the consequences and whatnot. I don't know if happiness is worth being ignorant, but...that's the way I think."

Antonio's gaze seemed to intensify. Lovino was trapped in it. "That's dumb. Happiness is definitely worth being ignorant. I think it's smart to want to be happy rather than to mull over every possible outcome of every life decision."

"Well, I say that being realistic is better than living in ignorance."

"When you're happy it doesn't matter if you're ignorant or not. What makes you happy is the most important."

"Realism."

"Happiness."

"Realism."

" _Happiness_."

Antonio laughed. "Do not argue with me. I'm giving your perspective on life a huge compliment; don't try to cancel my compliment by giving me one of yours, it doesn't work like that."

"My ass doesn't work like that either, so just shut your mouth and take the fucking compliment."

"So raunchy," Antonio giggled, his soft green eyes softening even more, and Lovino's body turned into pudding. "You're funny," Antonio whispered, his eyelashes fluttering—or was he flirting with Lovino? Lovino gulped and flushed. Fuck this guy for being so sexy.

Antonio offered Lovino a silky smile before leaning back and stretching his arms above his head; the contact they had through each other's eyes was broken. "'To be reborn we must die first'," Antonio echoed, repeating something Lovino forgot he'd said literally about two minutes ago. Antonio fixed his eyes on Lovino again. "Let's try that," he suggested.

Lovino narrowed his eye suspiciously. "Try what?"

"To be reborn," Antonio said simply, as if Lovino had just asked for the time.

"Right," Lovino said. "And how would we do that?"

Antonio paused to think about it. Then he smiled wickedly. "Let's go outside," he said. "And give our bodies to Mother Nature herself."

Lovink took a look out the window. All he saw was white. "Fuck no," he spat. " _You_ can go outside, I'm staying here."

"Lovino! I can't do it without you, that wouldn't be fair," Antonio whined, and he actually reached across the counter to grab Lovino's arm and tug on it like a fucking six-year-old. "Let's try it! In the name of science! For literature! For Yeats."

"You're crazy," Lovino said, shaking his head. "Batshit crazy. I don't even think Yeats would try something like that. He said it, but he wouldn't do it."

"Dali would try it," Antonio said. "One time he said, 'there is only one difference between a madman and myself; the madman—'"

"'—thinks he is sane, I know I am mad'," Lovino sighed.

Antonio squealed in delight and clasped Lovino's hand between both of his. "Ah! God, Lovino, you're so smart, I'm so impressed by how much you know! Where have you been all my life?"

Lovino rolled his eyes but his face was flushed heavily from the compliments. "Whatever," he grumbled. "I just read a lot. I'm no Einstein or anything."

"I wouldn't be talking to you if you were like Einstein. The guy is really smart and all, but a bit too mainstream for me." Antonio grinned. "I guess I'm sort of like a classic literature hipster—liking an author before they were cool. I wonder when Yeats will become mainstream."

Lovino sniggered. "Most likely never. But if he does, then that will be the day I get mainstream too, and start wearing crop tops everywhere I go."

Antonio laughed heartily, and Lovino drank in the sound of it. "I bet you would look lovely in a crop top. But anyways—" He squeezed Lovino's hand once before letting it go, and he stood up. "C'mon, Lovi, let's try it out! Maybe we will actually get reborn!"

"I have a feeling you're not going to stop bothering me until I go with you," Lovino groaned, but he dragged himself to his feet anyways, secretly interested in how this was going to work. "And did you just call me 'Lovi'?"

"Yup," Antonio replied as casually as he could, and he slid his arm through Lovino's, tugging him to the door. "Now let's go."

* * *

"For twenty-six years I've been making everyone else happy but myself," Antonio shouted over the howl of the unforgiving, icy wind, arms wrapped tightly around himself. "Now I will be able to make myself happy the best way I could think of." They were standing in the parking lot, no jackets, no hats, no nothing. The temperature was in the negatives.

"Jesus Christ, just die already," Lovino yelled back, arms crossed tightly over his chest, fighting to ignore the sharp coldness sweeping over his body. "Where the fuck is your zest? Where's your passion? You want to die, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"So fucking act like it! Put your back into it!" Lovino gritted his teeth hard and pinched his arm hard to distract himself from the pain. "And so I leave this world, this cruel, dark, volatile place, by means of indulging in my self-conscious, hoping for my immoral, sinful soul to transcend into a place far greater where—"

"That's a run-on sentence," Antonio called. "Have you ever heard of a conjunction?"

"Fuck you and your conjunctions, you can't just copyedit my famous last words!" Lovino hollered.

"My life has been so empty, like a container," Antonio said, ignoring Lovino. "I serve no purpose, meandering about in this diabolical, grievous world. Suffering is all I have gotten in this universe. But pain is only a temporary measure, and I need, no, I _deserve_ an exit from this madness, and—"

"Oh, my god, kill yourself. You don't deserve to live."

Antonio laughed. "What, too much?"

"Way too much. Because of that you need to die, you and your hideous sweater."

"Hey! You can talk shit about me, but making fun of my sweater is going way over the line!" Without warning, Antonio bent down, swooped up a big handful of snow, and chucked it at Lovino.

Lovino gasped as his arm got covered in snow and sent the nastiest glare in Antonio's direction. Immediately Antonio's hands raised in surrender.

"Hey now, calm down, it was just a playful banter, that's all," Antonio said with a grin.

"'Playful banter'," Lovino repeated monotonously. "You're being redundant and redundant. For that, you _have_ to die now."

"No, no, no, I—Lovino, hold on—" Antonio's eyes widened as he watched Lovino also bend down and pick up some snow. He started backing up. "Wait—Lovino, _wait,_ wait, no— _no,_ nonononono, don't—Lovino, wait! Wait! _Wait!"_

The ball of snow went flying through the air and Antonio ducked, successfully avoiding it, before twisting around and bolting away. Lovino raced after him with a new scoop, determined to make the other man suffer. The chase went on for about another minute or so, Antonio laughing wildly as he tried getting away from Lovino, and Lovino was sporting a little grin of his own.

"Lovino, stop!" Antonio cried out, breathless from running around, laughing, or both. He had long legs but unfortunately not enough stamina, and he was slowing down considerably. Lovino was gaining on him, and Antonio screeched. " _Stop,_ Lovin—" His left foot landed onto a particularly slippery area of the parking lot, and he ungracefully stumbled forward and landed promptly on his face.

Lovino skidded to a halt. "Oh, shit." He hesitated, then dropped the snow. "Oh, _shit._ " He hurried forward and slid onto his knees beside Antonio. "Jesus Christ, man, holy shit, are you okay?"

To Lovino's surprise, Antonio let out a muffled laugh against the snow-covered ground before turning his head and pressing his cheek against it. "Yeah. Did I look cool, though?" His eyes were sparkling.

Lovino's heart flipped in his chest and landed in his throat. "Yeah. The coolest," he responded with a nasty glower, and sat right next to Antonio. Antonio didn't move.

Neither of them moved for about another ten seconds, and Lovino's _everything_ was seriously starting to hurt. He shivered and his teeth chattered and he wondered how much longer he would have to stand out here before he could properly freeze to death. "Hey—" he choked out, feeling the coldest he has ever felt in his entire life so far. "How's your whole reborn journey coming along?"

"I can't feel my balls," Antonio replied cheerfully.

Lovino snorted out a laugh. "Tragic."

There was a temporary interval of silence between them, probably about fifteen seconds until Lovino asked, "You're not a criminal, are you? You didn't lure me out here just so you could stab me and bury me in the snow?"

Antonio smirked. "I _wish_ I were a criminal. That'd be so thrilling, don't you think? But unfortunately it is 'ethically immoral' and 'politically incorrect' to wish to be a miscreant." He sighed like he was truly disappointed, and had Lovino not spent time with this man prior to Antonio saying that, he'd probably believe the guy.

It was quiet again after that, for at least thirty seconds, but Lovino wasn't really counting. Antonio peeped sooner or later, "This was a stupid idea, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I change my mind, Lovino. I don't want to die anymore."

"Okay. Let's go back inside."

"Okay." Lovino stood up and lent a hand to Antonio—

—of course, not before grabbing a pile of snow and shoving it down the back of Antonio's sweater. Antonio shrieked; Lovino chuckled.

* * *

"Do you believe in the death sentence?" Antonio asked, holding a Kleenex to his face like Lovino told him to. The moron had gotten minor frostbite on his cheek because of his swell idea.

They were sitting at the counter again, a third mug of hot chocolate for Antonio and a first for Lovino. It was getting relatively dark outside, and so Lovino had turned on a couple of lights, which included the tacky lines of Christmas lights strewn around the café—those in which Antonio had gaped in fascination at and brought a big smile to his face.

"I don't know," Lovino said. "I guess it depends on what the guy did. Or woman."

"Let's say this guy killed another guy," Antonio said. "But assume it was out of self-defense, and the one who got killed was the initiator. Does the killer deserve punishment?"

"If it's self-defense, that's totally different," Lovino replied, tapping his fingers against his mug. "He'd be dead if he didn't attack back."

"What if the attacker killed the guy instead?" Antonio asked. "Does he deserve to die, for killing another man?"

Lovino paused and leaned his chin against his palm. "Hmm." He sipped his drink, then frowned. "I don't know. Maybe. Eye for an eye, I guess?"

Antonio tilted his head a bit and smiled. "But that would make whoever kills this criminal a killer themselves, right? Only they're not going to get the death sentence because they're police officers, but that doesn't mean they're not technically killers."

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Semantics."

"It's true."

"Well—I guess the logic is that when someone murders someone and that murderer gets killed, the whole notion of criminality gets neutralized because in the end the bad guy dies and so—happy ending?" Lovino tried.

"And if it were someone like Jeffrey Dahmer?" Antonio asked, slurping up some of his drink. "Killer, rapist, pedophile...and he only got sentenced life imprisonment. Why do you think that is? Shouldn't he have deserved the death sentence?"

Lovino exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding his breath for a while. "Damn," he said softly. "I don't know, I never actually thought about that. Dahmer was a really fucked up dude, but I guess not fucked up enough because John Gacy was also a killer, rapist, pedophile, et cetera, and _he_ got the death sentence. Maybe once you kill, like, twenty-five people you're eligible for the death sentence?"

"Maybe," Antonio agreed.

"The fuck are you doing anyways, talking about shit like that on _Christmas_. That should be illegal."

Antonio smiled but it looked a bit forced. "Am I talking too much? Or talking about weird things? Or boring things?"

Lovino caught onto a hint of self-consciousness and nervousness, maybe, in Antonio's tone, which was strange because the whole time up to this moment Antonio was this confident, self-assured man who seemed to not care what anyone said about him—but now, the guy was looking uneasy. And Lovino didn't like that. "No," he said. "It's just that—you surprise me, with what you want to talk about, that's all. Not in a bad way, but...well, it doesn't bother me. It's...you know. Intriguing, to say the least." He moistened his lips and hoped Antonio wouldn't suspect Lovino was coming onto him or something.

But Antonio grinned, and there was no uncertainty this time. "That's my motto—take people by surprise, keep them guessing, don't let anyone think they know what you're going to do next. Adds character, in my opinion, and, well, it's fun, too. To see bombshell in their eyes." Antonio shifted a bit on his stool and suddenly looked a bit shy. "Um," he said quietly. "Also, I...like talking to you. I can't remember the last time I talked to someone, especially like this, and—also with someone very smart. It's been a while since I, you know...talked to anybody in general and so...this is nice. Really nice. But, uh—" Antonio blushed. "Let me know if I'm talking too much or whatever because it's hard to keep track of what I'm saying sometimes. Especially when...when I'm talking to you, I've noticed," he mumbled.

Lovino watched Antonio for a moment, admiring his eyes and his nose and his cheekbones, and he briefly wondered if Antonio was even _real,_ because Lovino had never met a person so perfect and so imperfectly _human_ before. For all he knew, he could be having a stroke in the kitchen and Antonio might not even exist. "I, uh..." Lovino scratched his nape timidly and looked away. "Um, it's...been a while since I talked to someone like this, too. You're...pretty smart yourself. It's, um," he stuttered, and his voice was starting to break, oh no oh no oh no he physically cannot give genuine compliments his face is burning up and turning into fucking magma abort _abort_ ** _abort_** — "I think it's really nice, too."

"Really?" Antonio's eyelids drooped slightly in a sweet, sleepy sort of way, and Lovino wanted to scream. "I'm glad you feel the same way."

Lovino nodded quickly and swallowed hard. Fuck, he really wanted to kiss Antonio right now. Right now, right on the lips, on those lips that looked like absolute sin. Antonio was looking at him and Lovino was looking back and—just—FUCK. _FUCK._ Antonio was so physically appealing it was beginning to physically _hurt_ Lovino. Lovino leaned in a bit, just a little bit, and—

"I feel like dancing," Antonio announced, dropping his Kleenex and hopping out of his stool before Lovino could even blink. "Do you think you could put some music on? I'm coming down with the boogies and dancing without music really kills my vibes."

Lovino furrowed his eyebrows but he couldn't say he wasn't amused. He shook his head but got up and moved to the speaker system. "Alright, fine. Go crazy." He fiddled around with the machine for a second but eventually he managed to press play. Instantly, a familiar and absolutely classic Christmas song blasted through each speaker in the café.

 _Last Christmas, I gave you my heart_

 _But the very next day, you gave it away_

 _This year, to save me from tears_

 _I'll give it to someone special_

Lovino laughed quietly as he watched the goof he'd had the pleasure of hanging out with today not only jam and wiggle his way around the café, but also lip synch the entire fucking song—the man knew all the lyrics, too, which was talent if Lovino ever saw it.

A couple of minutes later, the song changed, and Lovino mentally groaned—the most annoying Christmas song on the face of the fucking planet played. And, of course, Antonio bounced around on his toes in excitement, but Lovino was not prepared for the man to bounce his way around the counter and grab his hands.

"Dance with me, Lovi," Antonio pleaded, pulling on his hands, and Lovino shook his head wildly, trying to tell Antonio he didn't (couldn't) dance, but Antonio was having none of it. Lovino couldn't reject the face Antonio was pulling, so he gave in and let Antonio drag him to the middle of the café. He was blushing furiously but seeing Antonio dance around like an idiot and sing along to Mariah Carey gave him some confidence—so he tried, and, well...it was actually...pretty fun, to say the least. Something about dancing with Antonio just didn't feel too awkward or made him feel uncomfortable, not even when the idiot pulled him up onto a table to dance there instead. And, Lovino noticed, he never met someone who made him feel this way.

Lovino lost track of time. Songs came and went, and he had no idea how long they were actually dancing for until the music player started up 'Mistletoe'—that cheesy, sappy, almost disgustingly sweet song sung by JB. Lovino cringed at not just the song choice but at the realization that they'd been dancing for at least an hour and a half, because he knew 'Mistletoe' was the last song on the track. And Lovino didn't even notice until now. He didn't even feel tired. In fact, it felt _exhilarating,_ and strangely empowering to just let loose and go crazy for a while.

"This is one of those songs where you're supposed to slowdance, right?" Antonio asked suggestively, looking a little flushed around the cheeks, most likely from all the dancing.

Lovino gave him a look. "We are _not_ slowdancing."

"Whaaat," Antonio whined, grinning from ear-to-ear, and the fucker pulled on Lovino's hands. "Oh, come ooooon. Last song, then we can stop. Pleeease?" And then the fucker had the gall to pout.

Lovino flushed and stammered and squirmed but he found himself being pulled right against Antonio's chest. The bastard's arms went around Lovino's torso, and Lovino nervously placed one hand in between Antonio's shoulderblades and the other on the center of his back. The asshole—the _DICKHEAD_ —hummed happily, so close to Lovino's ear, and his body was nice and firm and warm and—Jesus, how long has it been since Lovino's been held like this?

Too long, he decided, and involuntarily his eyes closed and his chin rested on Antonio's shoulder. Too fucking long.

Antonio was swaying slightly, and so Lovino followed, moving to and fro with this disgustingly gorgeous man to this disgustingly sweet song in this disgustingly cozy café. It felt surreal. If this is a dream, Lovino thought bitterly, then he will unironically kill himself tomorrow. And 'unironically' isn't even a word.

The song was coming to a close, and Lovino felt a deep, sinking feeling of disappointment because it would mean that Antonio would have to let go of him. And...Lovino didn't want him to. Not at all. He held onto the man a little bit tighter but not tight enough to scare the man away. Fuck, this felt nice. It felt fucking _good,_ Antonio's arms around him. _I deserve this,_ Lovino thought to himself.

"I like you, Lovino," Antonio murmured into his ear, and Lovino stiffened. Jesus Christ. Lovino waited a second or two. Antonio didn't say anything else. Lovino relaxed. He must've imagined that, then.

"Hi there," Antonio said suddenly in a loud voice. Lovino opened his eyes and lifted his head. Antonio wasn't looking at him. Lovino followed his companion's gaze to the window, and to his mortification, there were two people passing by, a man and a woman, both probably in their thirties, looking right back at him and Antonio. He felt a hot, burning, unforgiving blush rise onto his face and _oh god he was so embarrassed this is so embarrassing what the fuck_ but the couple was smiling, and Lovino felt Antonio wave.

"Merry Christmas," Antonio called to them, and Lovino huffed, prepared to tell Antonio the couple couldn't fucking _hear_ him, but the couple seemed to smile wider and they waved back before disappearing down the street.

"Nice people," Antonio commented, his grip around Lovino loosening. Lovino grunted in response and pushed his way out of Antonio's arms, hoping he didn't look disappointed by doing so.

"How embarrassing," Lovino muttered.

"What, two guys holding each other is embarrassing to you?" Antonio asked, sounding equal parts defensive and nervous.

Lovino adjusted his Santa hat and shook his head. "No. Just your sweater. I can't believe you let those poor people look at it; it is a disgrace to humanity. _Please_ burn it, that would be a fucking public service."

He liked the look on Antonio's face. Jaw dropped, eyebrows lifted. Lovino chuckled. Antonio gave the best reactions. Before Antonio could splutter out a response Lovino grabbed his sleeve. "Come help me turn on the fireplace, doofus."

* * *

"—and I've also been to London, but literally only because I wanted to go to the Shakespeare's Globe," Antonio said. Around three hours had passed since they danced together, and they'd spent that time just talking, talking about philosophy, science, art, religion, more literature (a topic which lasted about one hour and forty-five minutes, since Antonio wanted Lovino's opinion on Margaret Atwood. _Margaret Atwood_.) and Lovino never realized how fun it was talking to someone so relatable. They were sitting in front of the lit fireplace on the floor, and Lovino had never felt more cozy.

"Shakespeare," Lovino snorted. "Linguist...art historian...fashion designer...connoisseur of fine literature...hard to believe you're still single."

"Hey, only, like, two of those were even semi-accurate," Antonio laughed. "And don't laugh at me, Shakespeare is pretty gnarly."

"Gnarly. _Gnarly_. For fuck's sake. _Please_ jump off a cliff," Lovino sighed melodramatically.

" _Stop_ ," Antonio giggled. "But anyways, how do you feel about Shakespeare? I can't believe I haven't asked you that yet."

"Shakespeare is pretty cool, but _Romeo and Juliet_ is shit," Lovino said. "The big ones, like _Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, Twelfth Night, Taming of the Shrew_...those are the good ones. Though I would not recommend them to those in a 'English as a Second Language' club."

"Yeah, no kidding, hey? The language in that guy's era was so weird," Antonio said. "But I'm an immigrant, and I hate to brag but I think I understand him pretty well. Also, can you believe there are some people who refuse to read Shakespeare because they believe he's white and sexist?"

"That's so fucking dumb, he's not sexist," Lovino spat. "He portrayed men and women the way men and women were actually like in those days. That's not sexist. That's fucking historical accuracy. God, it pisses me off so bad whenever I hear shit like that."

"Thank you!" Antonio cried. "I know, right? It's truly fascinating how stupid some people could be. I'm glad you're not like one of those people, Lovi, I'm glad you're so smart."

"Hmm," Lovino hummed as a response. There was a brief period of silence until Lovino realized Antonio was waiting for more of an answer. "Uh, thanks," he mumbled, face flushing.

Antonio smiled sweetly. "You're welcome."

It was quiet after that, but strangely enough Lovino found himself appreciating the silence less and less now, and he swore it was because of Antonio. Lovino actually enjoyed himself talking to Antonio the whole day for some reason, and he wasn't sure if it was because Antonio was hot, kind, smart, funny, or all of the above—but he didn't really care; he was sort of glad he got forced to work today, at the end of the day.

The world outside the café was almost pitch-black. Not a single light peering through. Lovino was thankful for all the lights in this place, otherwise he'd probably be a little freaked out. The rug underneath him was soft and snug and Lovino never felt so comfortable in his life. He closed his eyes.

"Lovi?" Antonio whispered a couple minutes—minutes? Or were they seconds?—later.

"Mm?"

"This may seem a bit random, but...how do you say 'merry Christmas' in Italian?"

" _Buon Natale_ ," Lovino replied breezily.

"And...how about...'thank you for spending time with me'?"

Lovino paused for just a sec to think about it. "Mm... _grazie per essere qui con me_."

"What about 'I like you'?"

"Mm. _Mi piaci_." Lovino was starting to feel a little sleepy.

"And...how about 'I want to kiss you'?"

Lovino froze. _What?_ He opened his eyes and turned to Antonio questioningly.

Antonio's face flushed with embarrassment and Lovino watched him gulp. "Too forward?" he asked in a very soft, very quiet voice.

" _Voglio baciarti_ ," Lovino responded quickly, his own face flushing hotly. He forced the words out of himself because he knew that if he waited another second he'd be too embarrassed to say it.

Antonio looked at him. "Oh," he whispered. _Oh_. That's it. Lovino nodded and licked his lips.

And then Antonio's eyes went half-mast. And then Antonio wasn't just looking at Lovino's eyes but also his lips. And then Antonio leaned in.

Their lips connected, soft and sweet. Antonio's lips were warm and slightly damp. They kissed gently, carefully, then a little harder; then Antonio pulled away.

"Uh," the beautiful man stuttered, eyes wide and face red. "Oh, jeez, Lovino, I'm so sorry, I should've...I should go, I'm sorry, I—"

Lovino reached around to the back of Antonio's head, and he pulled him in again, and their lips connected once again. Lovino kissed Antonio, kissed him until he felt him relax and kiss back—then they kissed a little deeper.

They kissed for thirty seconds. One minute. A minute and a half. And then Lovino released a dazed Antonio, a gorgeous, sweet, smart, dazed Antonio, and let his hand drop.

"Okay?" Lovino whispered. Antonio nodded and then smiled brightly. "Good."

They looked at each for a moment. Just a moment of looking at each other, plain and simple. Then Antonio looked away shyly. "I really should get going now," he said softly, looking at his watch. "It's almost eleven."

Eleven! Jesus Christ. Lovino was supposed to close up shop about four hours ago. Where the fuck did the time go. "Okay."

They slowly got up and made their way to the counter. Antonio zipped up his jacket and put on his mitts—only to rip them off. "Hold on." He snatched a pencil from behind the counter and grabbed Lovino's copy of _1984_ , opened it up to a page, and started scribbling furiously.

When he was done he closed the book and handed it to Lovino with a smile. "Here you go." Lovino took it, and Antonio pulled him in for a nice, warm, tight hug.

"Thank you so much for today," Antonio whispered. "I'm glad I met you."

Lovino was blushing like a loser and yet he still put his arms around Antonio. "Me too."

Antonio pulled away, only to lean in and press his lips against Lovino's hot cheek. "Bye."

"Bye," Lovino said breathlessly.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

And Antonio was gone.

Lovino's gaze travelled down to the book in his hand. He opened it and flipped forward a few pages. On the title page it said:

 _xxx-xxx-xxxx_

 _Thanks for everything today, I'm so happy I got to spend this blessed day with you. Call me! I hope to see your sweet face again, Yeats Jr. :)_

 _¡Feliz Navidad!_

* * *

A/N: This is late as shit fml. Was planning to post a little something either on or directly before Christmas, wrote about 8K words and then scrapped it bc i didnt like it lmao. Hopefully this turned out okay. :'~)

Happy holidays and happy new year! Let's make 2017 hella lit fam B)

Stay classy.


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